How to Mend a Broken Soul with Whiskey and The Breakfast Club
by ThatWitchBitch
Summary: Delves into the dinner scene that occurs after the end of Ep 1, Season 1, and my interpretation of what happens during it. Some dark themes are mentioned throughout this, like Sherlock's depression and self medication. You have been warned. However, there is a light at the end of this story in the form of friendship fluff (that is naturally open for interpretation). Enjoy!


The ride back to town after the crime scene is long and boring.

John realizes he's incredibly excited yet tired, seeing as he hasn't been this involved in danger like this since the war. The thought makes him smile in the back of the cab, happy to be back in the thick of it all. He leans his head against the paneling of window and he closes his eyes, content and sightly sleepy, "Always Something There to Remind Me" playing softly over the radio.

Sherlock begins to hum the song under his breath, and Watson pretends to not notice, well, how 'human' the action is.

However, he can also tell that Sherlock is on edge. John feels him lightly bouncing his feet, and twiddling his thumbs in his hands, obviously restless. He knows better than to ask questions if not necessary. After all, the man came very close to taking his own life just moments before with that damned pill. The thought of it makes John feel nauseous and he sits up; knowing he almost lost what he considered to be a new friend. He lost too many of those already in the war, he wasn't about to start losing them here either.

Sherlock is looking out of the window, lost in thought, eyes darting back and forth between pedestrians. He feels John shift upwards beside him and points at a lady sitting on a park bench as the cab stops at a light. She has a cigarette clenched between her fingers, and a toddler in a stroller next to her.

"You see her? Unhappily married for about two years, forced into the marriage because of the pregnancy, and also the abuse that her now husband provides. You can see the dark circles under her eyes, but she can't be more than 25, and those are too deep for her age. Black eye bruise marks most definitely." Sherlock smiles at himself, happy with his quick 30 second deduction before the cab speeds off from the stop sign.

John chuckles and looks at the side of Sherlock's face in disbelief in the darkened cab, his features lightened by passing city lights. "You can't shut it off can you?"

"Only with narcotics."

* * *

They pull up to the pub at about half past midnight, the air thick with humidity and the smell of ciggs pungent in the air. John crinkles his nose at the smell, and Sherlock notices.

"That's London for you." He notes, and opens the door. The two walk inside and find a table near the back window to sit at, as the owner comes over to say his hellos to Sherlock and his "date". John tries to explain himself again but gives up. "Do we really look like an item?" He asks after they order the food.

Sherlock takes a sip of his tea. "Crazier things have happened around this city. People like to muddle in others business, I'm sure you know that."

For the next few minutes, the two don't speak, quiet in thought and nearby noise of others chatting. John replays the day over and over in his head, in quiet wonderment of it all. The food soon arrives, and he digs in, starving after that missed meal due to Sherlock wanting to "prove a point", that bastard.

Just before John makes a crude joke, he looks up to see Sherlock lost in thought, hands palmed together in prayer, fingertips touching his chin. The look in his eyes scream troubled. Since when does he get upset?

Something's off. Really off.

"Everything alright?" John asks, looking up from his meal to try and catch Sherlock's gaze. He continues to stab at his food, not really eating anything.

"Yeah, yeah, I was thinking, I must have zoned out. I suppose I'm still in shock." Sherlock says with a half-smile, attempting to ignore Watson's concern. He begins to pick at the Dim Sum, as a couple nearby begins laughing obnoxiously loud and obviously drunk.

John frowns and continues to eat, tapping his shoes together. He might not be as good as Sherlock, but he knows body language well enough to understand that something is bothering him. Soon, he gets an idea.

John motions over a waiter and orders two whiskeys. Sherlock notices and crinkles his eyes in curiosity. "Why did you ask for those?"

Someone starts playing "Footloose" over the karaoke machine. "What do you mean why?" John asks. "You've been looking upset since we left the crime scene."

Sherlock physically twitches at the mention of emotions. His face suddenly hardens over, features revealing nothing. "I don't get upset. I get bored."

Not a moment later, the drinks arrive and John nods in a thank you at the waiter before returning his attention to Sherlock. He raises his glass toward him, "Well, this is my way of helping you get unbored… by getting drunk instead, of course." With that, he raises his glass and downs the drink, feeling the whiskey burn a hole in his stomach.

"Shitttttttt." He hisses, face twisting up in disgust at the taste.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow in questioning. "How'd it go?"

John laughs out in sort of pain. "Like drinking lava made of horse piss. It's your go."

Sherlock moves the glass around, shaking the drink up slightly before smelling it. He seems pleasantly surprised, and downs it all in one gulp. He too tries to hold back disgust, but he ends up coughing and his eyes snap shut in pain. John laughs, as Sherlock tries to regain himself. "Yeah, that was bad. Kentucky import I assume?"

John nods and motions for more drinks to the bartender. "We're going to continue to drink until you can't taste what drink comes from where. I'm shutting you off."

Someone nearby drops a glass and the music changes to some shitty indie song. Sherlock seems to appreciate the idea of not being able to think for once. He smiles for once at John. "Yeah. I think I'd like that actually."


End file.
